


Post Phantom Thieves Boredom Disorder

by AuraSpirit



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, light hearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuraSpirit/pseuds/AuraSpirit
Summary: What does one do, when your leader leaves after shooting a god in the face?3 short drabbles on the various Thieves killing time.





	1. Ren's Long-Distance Support / Sojiro Advises Yusuke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parting is such sweet sorrow.  
> Yusuke continues to baffle pretty much everyone.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Every deity he could think of swearing by knew that he didn’t want to leave, yet fate was cruel more often than kind. Ren Amamiya’s final road trip with the Phantom Thieves had culminated in a fantastic meal, the mood at which had been less than jovial; the imminent departure of their beloved leader was far too great a put-down to be fixed by high-quality steaks.

The man himself had valiantly fought back tears at the station platform, and was powerless to stop them when he found himself in the middle of a Phantom Thieves group hug. He found some amusement at what that must have looked like from an outside perspective, a delinquent sobbing inelegantly between the bodies of five students and a younger girl, all whist a cat rubbed his face with its own.

One by one, they had broke off, starting with Yusuke Kitagawa, who smoothed off his shirt and framed the scene in his fingers before chuckling and lowering his hands.

“No painting would do us justice.”

Next to step away was Haru Okumura, wiping tears away from both her face and Ren’s with a rolled sleeve.

“Good luck! You had better visit!” She made no effort to hide the waver in her voice.

Ann Takamaki and Makoto Niijima stepped away at the same time.

“We’re taking nothing less than a video call, you know!”

“And you better keep up your studies! No slacking off because I’m not around!”

“Don’t worry Queen, I’ll keep him in line.” Morgana raised a paw from Ren’s shoulder, and was almost shaken off when Ryuji clapped the other and shook enthusiastically.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it! This guy is gonna ace whatever they throw at him!”

That left only Futaba Sakura holding onto Ren, hugged against his chest. He placed a hand on her head, prompting her to look at him.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Mmmhnn...no.” She forced a smile. “But I’ll manage.”

With that, she let her arms drop and she stepped back. On cue, the station intercom announced the arrival of the next train, and it soon arrived in the station with a metallic screech. For a single moment, Ren imagined the unnatural red of Mementos spilling from the windows, and with a blink that thought was gone.

“I…” Emotion closed his throat. “What else can I say, other than thank you?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Ann said. “Maybe an apology for all the sass?”

“Not a chance.”

He laughed through the tears, and the train doors opened.

“I’ll see you all again. Soon. Not a chance I can forget you.”

“Oh, quit it dude, you’re gonna make us cry again!”

“I believe that ship has sailed.” Yusuke pointed to Haru and Futaba, who were making no effort to stop the tears streaming down their faces while they held each other. The latter raised a middle finger to Yusuke in response.

“Sh-sh-shut it, Inari.”

Ren couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Summer. We’ll meet in summer, I swear.”

“We’ll hold you to it, dude. Knock ‘em dead.”

Ren turned away, stepping onto the train and waited for the door to close. He punctuated the doors closing with a pair of weak finger guns, watching his teammates groan at the action. He found his seat as the train pulled away, the tears falling again as Tokyo was left behind, at least for the time being.

 

\---

 

The following four weeks had each felt a year long. There was no great fanfare for Ren’s return, only an embrace from his parents and a brief notice from the principle. From there, it was life as normal, as normal as it could get with that endless void in his heart. He felt as if he had left a piece of himself behind. That probably wasn’t too far from the truth. Having Morgana around definitely helped, but he could see the same hollow expression in the feline’s eyes as he stared off into space from time to time.

It was the most hideous feeling.

 _Of course_ he’d be drawing the same reproachful eyes, _of course_  he knew that the rumours would spread. After all, no official apology had been given, only a quiet rescindment of his record. All of his fellow students simply must have thought he had completed his probation with no issue and returned to cause more trouble. Yes, that must have been it. Where he had gotten the money for the headphones that were permanently situated around his neck was anyone’s guess. They didn’t know just how close the bonds he had formed with his fellow thieves were, and now he felt more outcast than ever.

It wasn’t the stares and rumours he garnered that bothered him, it was the hole in his heart. He was well aware that there would be no way to prepare for it, and no easy way to close it. He often found his thoughts drifting back to Tokyo, back to the Phantom Thieves, to a place where they were happy, where _he_ was happy. His deep thought was just as often snapped away by a sharp rebuke for him to pay attention in class, which was almost always followed by self-righteous stares and mutterings. He endured it; taking top score in exams would wipe those smirks away.

“Morgana.”

“Hm?”

Ren was lying on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through news feeds, wondering what is friends were up to, and wondering if that camera on his phone was really off like the absence of its light suggested. Morgana was sat on his chest.

“What is it?”

Ren thought for a few more seconds before sighing and dropping his arm to the mattress.

“Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Hey, don’t give me that.” Morgana shuffled forward, his nose now mere centimeters from Ren’s. “What’s wrong?”

“No, really, it’s a stupid question.”

Morgana studied his face for a few seconds.

“Let me guess… you were going to ask if I think your heart’s becoming distorted.”

Ren chuckled.

“I can’t hide anything, can I?”

“Not from your teammates, no. And no, that can’t be happening. Not only are you a Per- an ex-Persona user, but Mementos and the Metaverse dissipated. There’s no medium for a Palace to grow in.”

“I told you, stupid question.”

The pair were silent for a few moments.

“Ren. I know you feel like you left your heart back there.”

He groaned.

“But you gotta carry on.”

“I know, I know.”

He was interrupted by his phone buzzing. He almost didn’t look at the screen but a hard glare from Morgana made him reconsider.

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Oh my GOD get a grip, you’re making me relapse here ლಠ益ಠ)ლ

 

He was fairly certain he knew why her timing was so perfect.

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Tell Ryuji he owes me 500 yen

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Not until you cheer up

 

**From: Hackerchan**

wait why

 

**To: Hackerchan**

You’ve been watching, haven’t you?

 

“Whoops, busted.” Morgana smirked.

 

**From: Hackerchan**

CAN IT, CAT.

 

**From: Hackerchan**

...damn it.

 

Ren was rolling with laughter now; how much had she seen, how much had she heard? It didn’t matter, it was just too much for him.

 

**From: Hackerchan**

AND YOU CAN STOP TOO, LOVER-BOY 凸(>皿<)凸

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Stop, my lungs can’t take much more

 

“See?” Morgana said. “No distortions here, just plain old human emotion.”

“Shame, the distortion’d be easier to fix.”

The last of his laughing fit died off, and he breathed deeply for a few seconds. He honestly felt much better.

“It’s so weird, not seeing each other all the time.”

“It’s gonna take a whole day to catch up when you do meet up again.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Not looking forward to the four months until then though."

“One day at a time, Joker.”

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Listen to the cat, mister.

 

“Yeah. One day at a time.”

 

\---

 

Yusuke stared at the canvas. The canvas stared back. It was taunting him. This was the third piece he had created in Ren’s absence, and it was the third piece where his own unsettled mind had contaminated it.

To the untrained eye, it was just a painting capturing the moment a dancer leaped up into the air, lengths of scarlet ribbon wound around her legs and arms, a fan of black hair trailing behind her upturned face and preserving her modesty. But Yusuke could see the faults. The longer he examined his work, the more her expression seemed to shift from neutral poise to a grimace, and those streamers wound around her began to look more like chain links. Such themes had recurred in his previous works, and Yusuke was beginning to suspect that he was not quite as fine as he had thought himself to be. He had barely given thought to the Metaverse following the destruction of Yaldabaoth and its machinations. And yet he still felt _off_.

He groaned, leaving the canvas on its easel. 4PM- plenty of time to get to where he wanted to go.

 

“Welcome, what can I- oh, Yusuke. House blend?”

“You know me so well, Boss.”

Yusuke took a seat at the counter, casting a cursory glance to the Sayuri which was still attached to the wall. Leblanc was unusually busy; every booth was full.

“You seem busy.”

“Yeah, been a good day. One house blend.” Sojiro leaned in as he brought the cup over. “On the house.” He straightened up again. “So, what brings you over here? You forget to buy food again?”

“I assure you my pantry is adequately stocked.” the artist retorted. “No, this is not a physical matter.”

Sojiro’s eyes narrowed slightly. Yusuke was uncharacteristically subdued- the usual bombardment of bizzare metaphors and tales of his latest muses had not come. Instead, he looked deflated. He removed three photographs from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

“Please, look closely and tell me what you see. I have a hand lens if you want to look closely.”

“Oh jeez, I’m really not a good person to ask about art-”

“Please.”

Sojiro exhaled heavily and lifted the photographs.

“Are these your pieces?”

“They are my three latest. Can you see the commonality?”

Yusuke produced a hand lens, which Sojiro accepted.

“Hoo, those streamers look very tight.” He looked closer with the lens. “They kind of look like chains.”

“So it truly is that obvious…”

“I think it would be better to carry on after I’ve closed up shop, if this is about any of your… uh, escapades.”

“I am grateful.”

“Stop that.” Sojiro chuckled. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

Yusuke added a portion of curry to his order, occasionally turning from the bar to survey the rest of the shop, sketches forming in his mind. He resisted the urge to frame the scene- he did not want to cause discomfort. He instead took to sketching geometric patterns on a blank card; it was strange that they had not disappeared along with the Metaverse, but he welcomed the change in medium. The way that they simply held ink and paint without it running was supernatural, and he found that they made good bookmarks. Perhaps he would leave them across Tokyo, with nothing more than a signature on the back.

The hours soon passed, and the click of the front door’s lock pulled his mind back to his body. Sojiro was leaning against the door, the glass fogging up from his body heat.

“So, is this to do with that whole Metaverse business?”

“You are sharp, Boss. Yes, I believe it may still be having an effect on me.”

Sojiro snorted in amusement.

“I’m not surprised, the amount of crap you kids went through. So, these chains. Were they a, uh, prominent feature of this Metaverse?”

“Not of the entire Metaverse, only in Mementos.”

“That was what caused that red rain?”

“Correct. Before it got to that point, we were exploring Mementos. I don’t know if Ren told you any of this, but it was created by the public’s subconscious, and took the form of a rather grotesque subway system that changed with every floor. That’s where I first conceived my “Desire” piece.”

Sojiro knew not of the piece Yusuke spoke of, but gestured for him to continue.

“The deeper we went, the more abnormal it became, tracks replaced with bone, and strange vessels lining the walls. Worse yet were the depths.”

“And that’s where the chains thing started?”

“I have no doubts about it. In the depths was the Prison of Regression, again conceived of the public’s desire to have something else do the hard work. They could leave, but they chose not to. I…” Yusuke took a steadying breath. “The shadow of Madarame was down there. Even Shido. That should speak volumes to you.”

“Shido didn’t seem like the sort to sit back if there was a chance he could control something.”

“You are correct. It seems the whole ordeal has taken a toll on me; it truly is the most horrendous memory I have.”

“Sheesh. You considered a psychiatrist?”

“It is not affecting my day-to-day, so no.”

“It’s affecting your art. That is exclusively your day-to-day.”

Yusuke relented with a deep sigh.

“I cannot afford a psychiatrist. But I do not think I need one. I just need to… purge these chains from my mind.”

“I mean, I’m not some art buff, but you always seem to paint people, or something to do with people. What if you tried changing it up?”

Yusuke remained silent.

“Come on, give me something to work with, kid.”

“I… need time to think about it. Thank you for the meal.”

“Well, this old man is at least able to make sure you don’t starve to death.”

He unlocked the door.

“Take care.”

 

\---

 

To say that the sudden appearance of Yusuke surprised Sojiro the next day was an understatement. Both he and the mercifully few customers present winced as the door was practically thrown off its hinges, the glass panes in them rattling alarmingly. Hurricane Yusuke was not slowed, and as he swung around after closing the door, the tote bag hanging from his shoulder almost swept the pay phone from its rightful place on the counter.

“Oh jeez.” Sojiro muttered under his breath, casting an apologetic glance towards his patrons who looked both bemused and disdainful.

“Boss, you gave me the solution!” He set his bag down and practically threw the cards contained within at Sojiro. They scattered across the bar. “Behold!”

Now that Sojiro thought about it, he had seen both Yusuke and Ren hastily conceal some card-shaped objects when he walked into the bar from time to time. He arched a brow, picking one up and inspecting it. It was a design painted in shades of green only, with many intertwining lines that formed tight swirls, as if they were some violent eddie of wind. The pattern tessellated perfectly, as did the rest of the cards on the counter.

“Geometric patterns, huh? House blend?”

Instead of answering either question, Yusuke instead erupted into a spiel on how he had done nothing but stare at his own art for two hours before absentmindedly drawing on a card and losing control from there. He only stopped when Sojiro placed the cup in front of him. He stopped immediately, seemingly remembering that as a human he had to breathe, and calmly took a sip. The remaining patrons returned to their conversations.

“So my advice worked, huh?”

“Very much so. This change in medium has allowed me to express myself even more now. What a liberating feeling!”

“Uh-huh. You hungry?”

A growl from Yusuke’s stomach was all the answer he needed.

“Curry comin’ up.”

The dish soon landed in front of Yusuke, along with the photographs he had left behind yesterday. He made a point of not looking at them, an action that Sojiro was quick to pick up on- did nothing escape him? He did not ask about the photos immediately. Instead, he picked up one of his new cards- vibrant bands of green and white intertwined as if they were some great wind.

“Huh, you know, I’ve thought about refacing Leblanc a few times, and I’m fairly sure Futaba would also be a fan of this one.” He flipped the card over, staring at Yusuke’s signature and the title below it. “Magarula? What does that mean?”

Yusuke froze. Sojiro arced an eyebrow. Yusuke gestured for Sojiro to lean down.

“Officially, nothing. Unofficially, it is the name of one of the spells we used as Phantom Thieves.”

Sojiro lifted another card, primarily red and giving the impression of great columns of fire.

“Agidyne? Hmm… Oh, these must be those blank cards I found. Ren had a few on him. So what, you could use them to shoot fire or something?”

“Something like that.”

Sojiro took the hint and relented, leaving both cards on the table. His eyes once again turned to the photographs from the previous day. Yusuke continued to avoid looking at them.

“You know, I was looking at these. You said that they had chains in them, right?”

“Truly a travesty, to have art corrupted by such imagery.”

“Right, well, you are being way too harsh on yourself. Give yourself a break. Besides, I’m not some art buff, but I can see that this dancer is clearly not chained down. In fact, she looks more like she broke herself out.”

The fork stopped mid-way to Yusuke’s mouth. Sojiro realised the magnitude of his error and was swift to reach across the counter and hold him to his stool.

“Keep it down.”

“I’ve been a fool once again! I have not imprisoned my work, my work has imprisoned me! I have been so short sighted… Boss, you have opened my eyes to my own shortcomings!”

Sojiro could only blink and shrug in a feeble effort to mask his confusion.

“R-right, sure.”

Sojiro was not surprised when Yusuke vanished from the shop without even finishing his curry, nor was he surprised when he found the completed dancer painting on one of the tables the next morning.

“Jeez, weird kid…”

 

\---

 

**Hackerchan sent a photo**

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Is that Leblanc?

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Inari.

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Enough said, huh?

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Sojiro tells me that he somehow helped Yusuke with his art???? Idk

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Knowing boss he prolly just said something and Yusuke took liberties interpreting it

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Sounds about right

 

**From: Hackerchan**

When you visiting

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Summer :(

 

**From: Hackerchan**

UUUUUUGHHHH WHY SO LONG

 

**To: Hackerchan**

The parents insist they come with if I visit before then. And sojiro + coffee + the parents = one scalded joker face

 

**From: Hackerchan**

alskjakjga he’d totally get the wrong idea

 

**To: Hackerchan**

Right? Besides, parents are sorting stuff out in summer, should be able to sneak off.

 

**To: Hackerchan**

That is not to be taken as a challenge to get me there sooner.

 

**From: Hackerchan**

Who, me? ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

   
---  
  
 


	2. Ryuji Translates a Song / Makoto Plays a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The English language can be tough at times.  
> So can video games.

When it came to the English language, Ryuji was hardly the person to go to for advice. It often took him several attempts to translate a single sentence, and even longer if he wanted it to be accurate. This made him very unmotivated to read, listen to or play anything that wasn’t in Japanese, as he simply couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. 

That was until that incessant song got stuck in his head, dug its hooks in, and resolutely refused to leave.

It was pissing him off.

He’d first come across it on the internet; whilst scrolling through his usual newsfeed, an all-caps, English link leading to a very brightly coloured article had caught his attention. Said article had been entirely in English, and as a result he hadn’t been able to make head or tail of what it was about, other than the fact that it was  _ probably _ to do with the three well-dressed men in the video thumbnail. 

He didn’t realise the magnitude of his mistake as he clicked on the link, and subsequently had an impossibly catchy song stuck in his head for the next four days. And he really wanted to know what the article was about, so he went to the only person he knew could help.

 

**To: Ann**

Yo, bit of a weird request, but can you help me with somethin?

 

**From: Ann**

Oooh, what might that be? Looking to impress someone?

 

**To: Ann**

No! I want you to translate somethin for me.

 

_ Ann is typing… _

 

Ryuji cringed internally, preparing to say “never mind”. Before he got the chance, her message arrived.

 

**From: Ann**

Wow, never thought you’d find something in English to be interesting

 

**To: Ann**

Whats that supposed to mean?!

 

**From: Ann**

Kidding! Soooooo, what is it?

 

**To: Ann**

A song. You able to meet up tomorrow?

  
  


**From: Ann**

Yep!! Diner at 1300?

 

He knew that would be her first port of call.

 

**To: Ann**

Nah, leblanc’ll be quieter.

 

**From: Ann**

True, see you then!

 

Ryuji put his phone down, grinning to himself. Finally, he was going to crack the mysteries of that damn song. Or rather, he would witness the moment those mysteries were revealed as Ann used her infinitely enviable bilingual skills. He sighed, picked up his phone, opened the article and listened to it again.

 

\---

 

Sojiro looked up as the bell rang, smiling warmly when both Ann and Ryuji entered his shop.

“Yo, Boss. You mind if we use the attic for a bit?” Ryuji asked as he closed the door behind him.

“Go for it. Just don’t make a mess.”

“Sweet! Thanks Boss!”

The pair made their way through the cafe and up the stairs, to the confusion of the patrons. One of them, an elderly woman, looked to Sojiro.

“Friends of yours?”

“Heh, something like that.”

Upstairs, Ann unzipped her jacket.

“Sooo, what’s this song then?”

Ann sat down at Ren’s former workstation, placing a sheet of lined paper in front of her and brandishing a pen with the other. She had brought a pair of headphones with her. 

“I don’t know, it’s all in English.” Ryuji perched on the sofa.

“You really should learn some more, y’know.”

“I know, it’s just, I’m too slow at translating for a song. And I can’t search for lyrics since I can barely even find the song in the first place.”

“Fair. So, how did you even find it?”

“Dumb luck, I guess. Here, pass me your headphone lead.”

Ryuji had already prepared the article, so he simply plugged in her headphones and pressed play. She signalled for him to turn up the volume slightly, and gave him a quick thumbs-up. Already he could see her tapping her foot, a bright smile on her face. He could just about hear the music. 

She began to write, quickly scribbling words down as she heard them, constantly pausing and playing the song so she didn’t miss anything. She was writing in english, presumably so she could transcribe it at her own pace once she had all of the lyrics. 

Ryuji soon noticed that Ann’s foot had stopped tapping, and her smile had faded. Her head was no longer nodding in tune, and she was set very still. Ryuji recognised this as the universal code for “Ann is about to flip her shit”.

“What’s up?”

Very slowly, she reached over and paused the video, taking her headphones off her head and placing them on the desk.

“Ryuji.” She said, her voice perfectly level. He feared for his life. “Would you mind showing me where you found this song?”

“U-uh, this article, here.”

He closed the video and held the phone up to her. She took it from his hands, her eyes flicking from left to right as she read aloud, translating for Ryuji.

“It seems impossible that anyone with the faintest interest in pop music could have missed the song or the controversy. It promotes a very worrying attitude towards sex and consent.”

“W-was it that bad?”

Ann tutted and turned to her notes, and transcribed them for Ryuji. A pit opened in his stomach as the words became recognisable to him.

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ Aww, crap.”

“Do me a favour Ryuji, be a bit more careful when looking up English songs?”

“But I-” He stopped himself as he met her icy glare. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

\---

 

“Thank you so much for inviting me here, Haru.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Really it’s the least I could do, with you getting the student council to let me keep my planters on the roof. I don’t think they’d have let me otherwise.”

Haru Okumura had invited the younger Niijima to her abode for a meal, as thanks for her continued support for her impromptu farm. Said meal contained products of said farm, and Makoto had to admit that the flavour profile had improved dramatically. She had been treated to what Haru claimed was a traditional English meal known as a roast dinner, and she had to admit, she could see the appeal. Slow-roasted beef, roasted potato, alongside carrots and parsnips that had been slow-cooked with the beef. What Haru referred to as a Yorkshire pudding also sat on the plate. The entire meal was generously topped with gravy and cracked black pepper. 

“The carrots are ones I grew on top of the school. What are they like?”

Makoto placed a chunk in her mouth, chewing slowly. Despite the gravy, she could still taste some underlying bitterness in the vegetable. It still tasted fantastic, though.

“They taste great, but they’re a little bitter. The rest of this meal though, I’ve never had anything like it! Where did you learn to make it?”

“My father occasionally went on business trips abroad, and once he went to England. I wasn’t with him, but clearly the food there was good enough for him to request the catering crew to make it. I thought I’d thank you with it!”

Haru beamed at Makoto. Makoto felt like her heart might melt.

“You are far too kind for your own good, Haru.”

They continued eating in silence, Makoto savouring the dish as she was well aware how unlikely it was she’d be able to experience it again.

“Now then.” Haru said once they had finished, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Our third guest should be arriving about now.”

“Another? Why didn’t they eat with us?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to. Something about nothing beating Sojiro-san’s curry.”

On cue, the doorbell rang, and the bottomless fountain of energy that was Futaba Sakura was admitted into the room, carrying a large bag.

“Yo, nice place you got here Haru! Where am I setting up?”

“Just through here. This way, Mako-chan!”

Haru directed them to another door, beyond which was a sparsely decorated lounge- it was outfitted only with a large sofa and an equally large flat screen television. Before Makoto could ask why Futaba was there, the girl in question had already gasped, ran forward, carefully placed the bag down, and started fawning over the TV.

“It’s such a huge screen! Ultra-HD OLED! Literally can’t get better! Haru, you gotta let me come here more often!”

“Of course! Please, take your time.”

Makoto took a seat next to Haru, watching as Futaba opened her bag and pulled a console, some controllers, and a number of cables from it.

“So, uh, what did you have in mind, Haru?” Makoto asked, watching as Futaba’s fingers rapidly untangled the mess of cables.

“Well, Futaba-chan tells me that you asked Ren to take you to an arcade at one point. Something about broadening horizons? So, I thought why not carry on with that in a more relaxed area that doesn’t cost you money?”

“She asked me for help. Look at that face! Could you say no to that face?” Futaba pointed an accusatory finger.

_ Probably not. _

“That’s… very thoughtful of you, but how did you know about that?”

“Same way I found you in the first place. Bugged Leblanc. May or may not have bugged your phone.”

“What?”

“Anyway so I brought over a console and we’re going to have fun today! Haru picked the game.”

“I thought we’d play a role-playing game, so you could maybe get into the game more, Mako-chan.”

“What game is it?”

Makoto’s heart stopped when she saw the cover of the box- a darkened, misty alleyway, with a lone figure standing with their back to the viewer. A fluid that Makoto was certain was blood dripped from the vicious looking cleaver in the figure’s hand.

“Bloodborne.”

Makoto felt herself die inside, just a little bit. Haru’s sidelong smirk all but confirmed that it had been a calculated decision.

“Is something the matter?” Haru smiled as she spoke- another ploy that was putting Makoto dangerously close to caving in. Futaba busied herself setting up the game.

“Can we play something else?”

“No can do, Queen. Only brought that one with me. Besides, you’re not scared, are you?”

Futaba’s challenge was hardly subtle, and Makoto felt a flash of anger as her competitive spirit flared up. She quickly repressed it. Emotional trauma was not something she wanted to experience.

Again.

“I… just prefer board games.”

_ They’ll buy that, right? _

“Awww, and after I came all this way…”

“Mako-chan…”

 

_ WEAK! Queen has been knocked down! _

 

“Fine, alright, I’ll play it.”

Futaba and Haru made no effort to hide their menacing giggles. Futaba thrust the controller at Makoto and collapsed into the sofa next to her, leaving the honour student sandwiched between her two teammates.

She had never felt more vulnerable.

“Okay! Step one! Character creation! Get cracking!”

Makoto sat through an incredibly uncomfortable opening, where a filthy looking man in a wheelchair mentioned something about a contract. She then spent longer than she’d like to admit sifting through the pages of sliders to build a character that could have passed for an older version of her before she finally confirmed her character, military veteran Niijima returning to the same man, the screen ominously fading to black with the mention of a transfusion. 

“Uh, what’s happening?”

Her two captors remained silent, their eyes gauging her face for any sort of reaction. She tried not to let her unease show; she felt like she failed miserably. The screen lit up again, giving her a view of the same room she had been in, now lit much less effectively. With no input, her view shifted to the left, to an expanding pool of blood.

“I’m not a fan of…”

She trailed off as something hauled itself from the pool, some nightmarish flayed rendition of a werewolf. At this point she was certain her heartbeat was audible. She whined as it reached towards her. Beside her, Futaba and Haru watched her face intently, grins affixed to their faces.

“No, no no no no...oh…?” Her weak protests ceased as the wolf combusted, flailing for a few seconds before collapsing out of view. Makoto allowed herself a breath of relief before that same breath caught in her throat as something else climbed onto her character.

“W-w-what is that?!”

It was even more misshapen than the wolf had been; stunted and gaunt, with a head far too large for its tiny body. Its limbs were also too long, and its face was simply a mess, with no normal-looking facial features. She yelped again as more appeared.

“What is this? Oh my please make it stop please…”

The camera moved as if her character had rested her head, and she shrieked again when more of the creatures came into view, clouding her field of vision as the screen faded to black again. Makoto failed to contain a whimper.

_ Ahh, you’ve found yourself a hunter… _

“Prepare for actual gameplay!” Futaba suddenly exclaimed, and Makoto stiffened beside her. She looked to Haru for support, who simply tilted her head and smiled warmly.

“You can do it, Mako-chan.”

Curse that smile.

When the screen brightened again, the view had switched to third person. Makoto watched as her character sat up and pushed themselves away from the operating table. She spent a few minutes panning the camera around the untidy clinic, getting used to the controls as best she could as Futaba pointed them out to her.

“Rule one of soulsborne games: dodge button is your friend. Don’t forget about it.”

“A-alright…”

Once she felt like she could move both herself and the camera at the same time without looking where she didn’t mean to, she tried one of the doors in the room and pushed it open. It led to a flight of stairs leading down, into another empty room, save for two spots where those strange creatures from before emerged from the floor. She was surprised to find them giving her hints upon interacting with them.

“Are these things… friendly?”

“Yep!”

She got no further answer, so she continued through the next doorway, into a room that was significantly more furnished, and more populated.

Populated by a single werewolf.

Makoto yelped, and her character froze in place. As of yet, it hadn’t noticed her. She glanced to her fellow thieves, who simply gestured for her to continue forward. She ran forward and slapped the wolf twice before it turned and mauled her. She shrieked as it lunged, dropping her controller as her character screamed and keeled over.

 

**YOU DIED**

 

Makoto had drawn her knees to her chest and was currently covering her eyes with her hands. Futaba made a conscious effort to wipe the grin off her own face as Haru placed a hand between Makoto’s shoulders. She stiffened at the touch.

“Come on, Mako-chan. You can do it.”

“...don’t want to.” The reply was muffled by her hands. Futaba rolled her eyes and prised Makoto’s hands from her face.

“Hey! It’s not that scary, is it?”

“It was loud and bloody and it had bits hanging off and I really don’t do well with horror can we please play something else?” The reply was spoken with a single breath. Makoto’s teary gaze had no effect on either girl.

“Hell no! We can’t have our teammate be afraid of something so silly! You’ve been through my head! There isn’t much worse than that.” 

Behind Makoto, Haru nodded. Slowly, Makoto’s breathing stabilised. She wiped her eyes and leaned down to pick up the controller. The screen had changed already. On Futaba’s directions, she chose her weapons from the messengers, and returned to the sick room, cleaver in hand. Upon reaching the room with the wolf, she hummed involuntarily before pushing to close the gap between them. She got the first hit in, and was pleasantly surprised by how much health it took from the creature. Two more hits took it down.

“See? You can do it, Mako-chan!” Haru encouraged her. 

Makoto nodded, making her way out the next door and into Yharnam proper. 

“This place seems… nice.”

The unhealthy amount of smoke and fire was difficult to miss, the air was clearly choked with ash. After a few moments wandering, she spotted her first group of torch-carrying men. 

“I don’t suppose they can give me directions?” Makoto asked. 

She got no reply from her friends. She sighed and stepped towards them, and yelped when they turned to her almost immediately and began to attack. Caught off guard, Makoto was quickly subdued.

 

**YOU DIED**

 

“Rule one of soulsborne games; assume all other humans are hostile.” Futaba chipped in.

“Isn’t the dodge button rule one?” Makoto’s quip earned her a bespectacled glare. “...o-okay.”

 

\---

 

Makoto felt like she was repeatedly throwing herself headfirst at a wall while playing this game, a feeling that Futaba assured her was shared by many players. She had been navigating some damned sewers for the past two hours, trying to find a route that she hadn’t tried whilst trying not to let her death count increase further. Both were a futile effort, and she could feel herself becoming more and more irate with each passing minute.

Whether that was the effect her two friends desired remained to be seen. On the upside, she wasn’t jumping at every noise any more, mostly because she’d learned where and when any creatures would pop up. 

She dispatched a grossly oversized pig, groaning as it faded to reveal yet another ladder.

“Hey, you haven’t been up there yet!”

Makoto hummed, ascending the ladder and navigating the area above- it was indeed unexplored territory, and for the first time in two hours, she cracked a smile.

“Finally, some progress.”

Haru and Futaba shared a glance. The latter mouthed “here it comes” to the heiress, and she suppressed a giggle. A few more minutes of wandering saw Makoto opening a shortcut, making a quick return to the Hunter’s Dream to level up and resupply before awakening in Yharnam again, making her way up the new set of stairs. She decided to give the two creatures stood around the fire a wide berth, and made her way through a large arch.

“Hm? Is that supposed to happen?”

The screen had changed to a view of a figure repeatedly swinging an axe at something she could not see. The following blood spray made her uneasy.

“ _...beasts all over the shop, you’ll be one of them, sooner or later.” _

Her following demise may have been her fastest yet.

_ “Too proud to show your true face, eh? But what a sporting hunt it was…” _

Makoto reappeared at the lantern, and Haru was quick to notice the dangerous mix of indignance and anger on her teammate’s face. Futaba grinned again; exactly the reaction she had been expecting.

“What, you just gonna let him trash talk you like that?”

What followed next both impressed and terrified Haru and Futaba. With each death, Makoto’s expression grew darker, furrows appearing on her face that neither of them had seen before. The glint in her eyes became murderous with each instance of  **YOU DIED** that appeared on the screen.

_ “What’s that smell?” _

Haru winced as Makoto expired to a shotgun round to the face.

**YOU DIED**

_ “Oh, the sweet blood, it sings to me!” _

A mistimed heal gave Gascoigne an opening, and Makoto fell again.

**YOU DIED**

_ “It’s enough to make a man sick…” _

Makoto was blasted back by the force of his transformation, and was crushed to death.

**YOU DIED**

**YOU DIED**

**YOU DIED**

Futaba feared for the life of her controller.

Haru could have sworn Makoto’s eyes had taken on a more vivid shade of red.

The pair sat in awe, unsure if they should say anything as Makoto entered a state of hate-fueled concentration, pulling off a near-perfect run against Gascoigne and sending him screeching into his grave. She practically threw down the controller after lighting the lantern, breathing heavily. She looked at her two friends, who were both leaning in opposite directions away from her, clutching cushions between themselves and her. Haru was first to speak.

“Are you okay, Mako-chan?”

“...Fuck no.”

Haru gasped, and Futaba howled with laughter.

“If… If- oh my god- if it got Makoto to swear, I think we should stop!” Futaba managed between desperate gasps for air.

“I think I will have some tea made.”

 

\---

 

**To: Ann**

Can I ask you a weird question?

 

**From: Ann**

Sure, futaba! What is it?

 

**To: Ann**

Where can I buy a decent sports bra?


	3. Futaba's Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power is a difficult thing to give up.

**To: Not Phantom Thieves**

Are we all up for that when he gets back then?

 

**Skull: Not Phantom Thieves**

Hell yeah! Just tell us when!

 

\---

 

Futaba felt like there was a piece of her missing, both literally and figuratively. Currently, her other half, her key item, was hundreds of kilometres away, checking the figurative box. On the literal side of things, she could not feel Necronomicon or Prometheus at all, and she hadn’t been able to ever since the collapse of Mementos. It was a weird feeling.

In the five months she had her Persona, she had grown used to slipping into the Metaverse and being hoisted into the relative safety of Necronomicon, watching as those glowing banks of data streams and status readouts appeared and bent around her fingertips. The ability to hurl a healing spell at the fighting party with a gesture, or a few taps to sharpen their reflexes , had been well-received, even if she could only find an opportunity to do it every so often; cognition was strange like that, and the Metaverse resisted her corruptive influence at every step.

She remembered the first time she entered Necronomicon following her awakening. It was strange, and the implications of being dragged into a UFO by a mass of tentacles was neither lost on her nor her teammates. That particular aspect of her other self was not voluntary, she had assured her teammates, citing both Makoto’s and Ann’s outfits as evidence, much to their chagrin. Despite the strangeness of its methods, Futaba was never uncomfortable inside Necronomicon. Why would she be? As soon as she was inside, the hold on her limbs and waist vanished, and she was suspended by unknown means, free to move in any direction, and yet would be resisted if she desired it, like an armchair made out of nothingness. Strange, but very much pleasant.

She remembered vividly the moment at which Necronomicon became Prometheus. She was certain it was Ren who had triggered the change, with his determination to see her finish her promise list, and his left-court confession to her- that had taken several minutes to process. The next time they had talked, she had felt a rush of…  _ something  _ that certainly wasn’t material or emotional (aside from the rush of emotion she felt for Ren whenever he was near). She had felt that familiar green disappear, replaced by a black star with a mischievous grin, boiling with iridescent fire. She was thankful that it wasn’t nearly as painful as her initial awakening- that was a pain she could go without experiencing again.

The method for entering Prometheus was arguably even weirder than Necronomicon. There were no tendrils, Prometheus simply grew out from her, taking her up with it. That particular sensation was far more alien than being hoisted. She quickly grew used to it though, and was back in full force with a barrier she could deploy at will, should Prometheus detect a lethal strike.

She missed that sort of protective power.

Futaba was ashamed to admit that certain habits had remained with her for quite some time, such as going to pull down her goggles to aid in navigating the many systems, before realising that she was in the real world and that there were no such goggles to place. The other was trying to turn on her computer by waving in front of the screen. She almost died of embarrassment when she had done that in front of Ren.

Futaba had come to the mindset that absolutely nothing was impossible and that she could surely channel some remnant of cognitive energy. As such, she had spent a number of hours she was not prepared to disclose sat cross-legged on her bed, palms outstretched, trying to feel for something,  _ anything _ that might give her a touch of the cognitive world again. After five minutes sitting like a Jedi reject, she groaned, collapsed onto her side and unlocked her phone.

 

**To: King of Hearts**

Uuuuuugh, when are you back, need your help with something

 

**From: King of Hearts**

Next week. And what would I be helping you with?

 

**To: King of Hearts**

Secret.

 

**From: King of Hearts**

Is this going to be highly disruptive, of questionable legality, or both of the above?

 

She could almost feel his smug grin, and she could definitely see it in her mind.

 

**To: King of Hearts**

Quiet you, I’ll tell you when you get here.

 

**From: King of Hearts**

How exciting

 

Futaba put her phone down, partly wishing she’d never asked. She was well aware that Ren could be under surveillance still; there were people that knew his true identity and of his actions the previous year, so her not telling him was definitely the correct choice. Whether letting him know was the correct choice was up in the air, because she knew he’d spend the next week thinking about whatever it was she wanted to do. Oh well, too late now.

She sat up, stretching her fingers, the joints popping as she did so. Who else could she ask about it? Ren was the one she trusted the most- obviously, as he had confessed to her and she had shakily accepted that confession- but that wasn’t to say she didn’t trust the other Thieves. She was just really embarrassed about it. And to her, it felt unfair to try and drag them back into the world that caused them no small amount of trauma for selfish reasons such as “local hacker wants to feel powerful again”. She needed another method.

 

\---

 

“Are you alright, Futaba?” Sojiro asked, giving her a concerned look from across the booth. “You’ve been awfully quiet recently.”

“Hmmm.”

That was all the response he got; the easily identifiable sign of “Futaba is thinking, do not disturb”. He shook his head, a half-smile on his face. He returned to eating his own curry, keeping an eye on Futaba as she mechanically lifted forkfuls of the dish to her mouth. He eyes were unfocused, staring through the table as if it wasn’t there. Upon finishing the meal, she placed her fork down and her laced her fingers under her chin. Sojiro busied himself cleaning up, washing the plates and utensils before drying and storing them. He was just closing the cupboard door when Futaba spoke up.

“I wanna go to the beach.”

“The beach, huh? I think you’d be best talking to your friends about that one. But, what’s with this sudden interest? Thought you got over the beach already.”

“Yeah, but Ren was there last time. It’s different.”

“If you say so. I hope you’re not expecting me to drive you there.”

“Nah, train.”

 

**To: Not Phantom Thieves**

When can we go to the beach

 

**Panther: Not Phantom Thieves**

Huh? What’s this all of a sudden?

 

**Queen: Not Phantom Thieves**

Why the beach?

 

**To: Not Phantom Thieves**

Need to go without help if I want the 100%

 

**Fox: Not Phantom Thieves**

...you mean Ren.

 

**Queen: Not Phantom Thieves**

Well, it is sunday tomorrow, are we all free? I am

 

**Panther: Not Phantom Thieves**

Yep! And I’m sure Ryuji’ll be fine with it

 

**Skull: Not Phantom Thieves**

What’s that supposed to mean?

 

\---

 

Despite her obvious discomfort at the beach, Futaba’s outing had been a success- she felt slightly better about herself, but that the only the official report. The unofficial success was the jar of sand sat in front of her; she had almost been caught- Yusuke had returned to their windbreak sooner than expected and had witnessed her scooping the dust into the jar. One fierce glare had ensured his silence. Also on her bed was her phone, with the open page titled “Colour Spray”. She had put a plastic sheet down over her bed, and a vacuum cleaner was propped up in the corner of her room next to the door, which was locked. Closing her eyes, she took a pinch of the sand and tossed it.

Nothing.

She frowned. That wasn’t right, there should have been something. Hadn’t Morgana told them that reality was only what they thought it was? She had set her heart on this; a day of discomfort was not going to go to waste here.

She spent the next few hours “meditating”, grasping for any hint of the Metaverse, for any signal. The sand was steadily accumulating on the floor, the pile growing with each failed toss. She had trawled the internet for meditation techniques, fictional spells, even positive thinking tutorials. And yet there was still nothing. She collapsed onto her bed, groaning with disdain. It wasn't  _ fair _ . Of course there hadn’t been a choice in giving up the Metaverse, a depowered life was much better than one where the public were still trapped. It didn’t reduce her longing by any measure, though. She groaned again, digging her hand into the jar and tossing more sand- the grains hung in the air for a few seconds before vanishing in a green flash. 

Futaba had never sat up faster in her life. Tentatively, she took another pinch, throwing the grains and watching them blink out of existence with that familiar green glow. She was grinning like a woman gone mad, and she couldn’t help but laugh as she threw more and more sand. She then turned her attention to the floor, where the remains of her failed attempts sat. She touched it, watching a web of green spread out from the point of contact. She couldn’t help herself, she jumped for joy.

_ One more step. _

She steadied herself and her breathing, reaching a hand out again, balled into a fist. She turned her hand and opened it, her palm facing the ceiling, and watched as green light spilled from beneath her skin, leaving the tips of her fingers in weak sparks. She still couldn’t feel the presence of Necronomicon, but it was something. She spent the rest of the evening launching those sparks, watching them drift across the room unaffected by wind or gravity before disappearing upon hitting a wall. 

Sojiro smiled as he heard her laugh.

 

\---

 

**From: Inari**

I have finished your project. I must thank you for the chance to work with such a medium. Are you free tomorrow?

 

\---

 

This was not the first time Ren was on a train bound for Tokyo. Previously, he was heading into unknown territory, to a largely unwelcoming home and host and a city full of strangers. Now, he felt as if he was returning to his true home, as awful as it sounded. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; there’s an undeniable bond that build when you’re thrust into a strange cognitive world and end up shooting a god in the face.

That, and the more personal bond he had formed which he had taken great care to keep under wraps. The last thing both he and Futaba needed were people like Ryuji and Ann grilling them about their relationship. 

There was also the problem of Sojiro. Ren felt like the best way to break that news to him was when he was out of hot-coffee-throwing range.  _ Just in case. _

His phone screen finally lit up again, having found enough signal to receive messages from the ex-Phantom Thieves. They had known the date of his return for weeks now, and now the day had arrived, the group chat was aflame. Pictures had been filling the screen all day- a coffee drip ready to brew, a bowl with “Morgana” neatly written on the side in blue marker pen, a pot on a lit stove which would contain nothing other than Sojiro’s signature curry.

The bag on his lap shifted, and Morgana’s head emerged, and Ren moved his phone so that he could see the chat.

“That bowl better be filled with fatty tuna when I get there!”

 

**To: REN II: RETURN OF REN**

Morgana demands tuna

 

**Haru: REN II: RETURN OF REN**

Well he can wait until he gets here, and he can enjoy what he gets

 

**Makoto: REN II: RETURN OF REN**

No spoilers!

 

With that, the chat fell silent. Ren had no doubt there was another group where they were scheming some grand surprise for him. The signal once again dropped out, and he sighed, leaning his head on one hand and scratching Morgana under the chin with the other. The cat turned his sapphire gaze on him.

“Are you excited?”

“Of course.” He muttered, attempting not to draw attention to the fact that he was talking to a cat. “What sort of leader would I be if I wasn’t excited to see my team again?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Even if one of them was still nagging me to go to sleep.” Ren used both hands to tug at Morgana’s cheeks. He yelped and retreated into the relative safety of his bag.

“Only because I had to! It’s not like you had Kawakami’s magic hands to help you!”

Ren laughed to himself, stifling the sound as best he could. His phone buzzed again- someone was calling him. Ryuji.

“Now, who might you be?”

“Ouch, do we really not matter that much?”

The pair laughed- Ren had missed the sound.

“How have you been, Ryuji?”

“Oh no, that ain’t happenin’ now. You can wait till you get here before askin’ those questions.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of…” Ryuji’s voice lowered considerably. “How long will it be before you get here?”

“Probably about one hour from here, why?”

“Well, it’s just that Futaba hasn’t been talking much all week. Figured you might’ve heard something, being our leader and all.”

Now that he thought about it, Futaba had sent an uncharacteristically low number of messages over the past few days; normally he received quite a few updates every day, but a quick flick through his history yielded only three message threads over the past week, none of which were from today. He frowned.

“No, not heard anything today. She’s probably got absorbed in some project or something, she does that.”

“You serious?” Ryuji’s surprise was audible. “Well, if you say so. See you in a bit, dude!”

“See you.”

The line went dead, and he lowered the phone from his ear. 

_ I’m sure it’s nothing.  _ He thought.  _ She’ll be fine. _

The seed of doubt had been planted in his heart though, and despite his internal reassurances, he felt that the train was now too slow. 

 

\---

 

By the time he reached Yongen-Jaya, Ren felt uneasy. He hadn’t told Morgana what Ryuji had said, since he wasn’t sure if he was just being paranoid. Ren and the rest of the Thieves had spent weeks building Futaba’s confidence, he was certain she couldn’t have relapsed. Hell, she had even organised a trip to the beach- that sort of willingness to go out of her comfort zone was almost unheard of. 

And still, he felt nervous- he had heard nothing from Futaba all day, and nothing from the rest of the Phantom Thieves since Ryuji’s phone call.

Ren practically melted with relief when he rounded the corner and saw the warm lights of Leblanc burning bright in the night. He could already smell the coffee, and the scent was joined by that of a distinct blend of spices as he opened the door, Morgana immediately jumping out of his bag and running upstairs. Sojiro looked up from behind the counter; he had to have known he was coming, but still he looked surprised. The surprise became a warm smile.

“Welcome back, Ren.”

“Hello again, Sojiro.”

“God, you’re always so damn polite, aren’t you? Go on, your friends are upstairs. I’m sure the cat figured that out straight away. Don’t ask me why though: I’ve not been told anything.”

“Thank you.” 

Ren walked to the foot of the stairs, taking care not to let his bag hit anything on the counter. The attic was dark and silent. Ren began to climb the stairs, listening for any rustling as he went- nothing. The room was dark enough that he could barely see his hand in front of his face, and he reached for where he knew the light switch was, and found himself unable to press it. A second feel yielded that the switch had been taped down.

“Guys?”

At the far end of the room, by his bed, a green light flared to life, the weak glow illuminating the room. Ren’s breath caught in his throat.

Futaba was stood by his bed, wearing those all-too-familiar pharoah’s robes that left all of her back exposed. That green light was emanating from under the skin of her hands, the hands that were currently around Ryuji’s neck. His eyes met Ren’s, but quickly rolled back. Futaba lowered him to the bed, the glow dying down. Ren could just about make out the prone form of Morgana at Futaba’s feet.

“...Futaba?”

Futaba stopped, slowly turning to face Ren. She was her shadow, the robes, bracelets and bandages all exactly as if they had been pulled from his memory. The yellow eyes confirmed it.

“Where were you, when I asked for help?”

That voice lacked all of Futaba’s energy and charm. He tried to respond, but found himself unable to- instead, he took a step into the room. A cutting glare stopped his progress. Why was it so dark? What was that green light?

“Where were you?”

Futaba was now approaching him like something risen from the dead- one foot clearly dragging behind the other in a sort of shamble, the ringlets around her ankles jingling ethereally. This was impossible- could a shadow take form in the real world without the Metaverse? Surely not, and yet…

“I-I…”

“No. There are no excuses for this. You deserted me. And desertion is a capital offense…”

Those hands were making their way towards his neck, that green light filling his view and reflecting off the lenses of her glasses. She was very close to him now, and he instinctively took a step back.

Straight into a grasping hand, and several bandaged faces right next to his.

He screamed.

The lights flooded on.

Ren collapsed to the ground, his breathing quickened by his panic. Futaba burst out laughing, leaning her hands on her knees for support. On the bed, Ryuji sat up, ensuring that the lens of the camera he was holding remained on Ren. Ann, Yusuke, Haru and Makoto removed the bandages from their faces, pointing and laughing at Ren’s horrified expression. Morgana was also rolling with the feline equivalent of laughter. On the stairs, Sojiro was also holding a camera, and he was stood next to the light switch, the taped-up cover resting on the floor.

A banner hung above the window, “WELCOME HOME REN!” inked across it, their Phantom Thieves flag acting as a background.

“Oh my god! He actually screamed!” Ann managed to wheeze out between laughs. 

Ryuji had moved from the bed and had the camera trained on Ren, who was still in shock. 

“Our fearless leader screaming at one of the oldest tricks in the book…”

Yusuke had framed the scene in his fingers.

“Buh.. what?” Ren had just about managed to shake off the impact of the moment. “How?”

He was referring to Futaba’s outfit. It was a disturbingly accurate replica of the garb worn by her shadow- flowing off-white robes from the waist down, bandages tightly wound around her chest and neck, overlain by a gold mantle. Even the headdress and capes between bracelets looked professionally made, and her eyes were a bright yellow, a stark contrast to the muted purple that they normally were.

“Contact lenses, duh. Get them from any good cosplay store. As for the rest…” Futaba pointed at Yusuke.

“Yes, the chance to work with a completely different medium was very stimulating. Though I did have to rely on the girls for the correct measurements.”

Yusuke did not see Sojiro’s smouldering glare. The latter shook his head and headed down the stairs. Haru and Makoto had busied themselves setting the table, placing plates and cutlery and pouring out drinks. A bowl had been set aside for Morgana, currently covered by another, larger bowl. The cat was attempting to shift the bowl, to no avail.

“Come on you, get up!” Futaba was now pulling on Ren’s arms. “I hunger! We can’t start without you!”

Ren’s second heart-stopping surprise that evening came as he pushed himself up. As he straightened up, Futaba closed in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quickly backing away after. The room had gone silent behind her, the rest of the Thieves looking on with a mix of surprise and happiness.

“Yooooooooo!”

Futaba herself was glancing between her hands, Ren, and the stairs, on which Sojiro was stood with a large pot in his hands. Ren also turned to his keeper, and spoke the first words that came to mind.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Sojiro simply chuckled, muttering a “hoo boy” under his breath.

“Your friends almost did that already. I don’t suppose I need to warn you?”

“N-not at all.”

Futaba decided that there was no more time to waste and pushed Ren into his seat, and took her place next her him. She raised her glass.

“To the Phantom Thieves!”

“Phantom Thieves!”

The attic was momentarily filled with the clink of colliding glasses. Futaba rested her head on Ren’s shoulders, and his hand rested on top of her head by instinct. She had missed this.

“Welcome home, my key item.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading these shorts! Thank you for your time!


End file.
